


Close Quarters

by Selena_Guardi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Quarantine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-10 05:03:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3277724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selena_Guardi/pseuds/Selena_Guardi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/conchepcion/pseuds/conchepcion">conchepcion</a> posted this prompt on tumblr a while ago and I couldn't resist.<br/><i>Sherlock and Molly don’t get on so much post-hlv. During one of the evenings Sherlock finally gets Molly to work with him they get exposed to some disease and put under quarantine. Ensue the two bickering it out behind locked rooms for almost a week. Someone write it.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Everything had happened so fast. One moment they had been examining the body, the next they had been locked inside the morgue. She couldn’t recall how exactly they had been sprayed in blood. It must have been her fault. One wrong movement, one little cut, just an inch too deep. It didn’t matter now anyway. Now it was too late.  
  
Now Molly was standing under the decontamination shower, cleaning herself as thoroughly as possible while her clothes were already carried away, sealed into plastic bags. It was the standard procedure, nothing to worry about. At least that was what she kept telling herself over and over again. _Stick to the list, everything will be fine._ And still she couldn’t quite push away that tiny bit of fear, this nagging feeling at the back of her mind, constantly reminding her of the fact that it actually could be something bad; something really bad, judging by the dead body lying on the cold steel table next door.  
  
A gentle knock on the door pulled her out of her thoughts.  
  
“Molly? Are you ok?” John asked through the door.  
  
“Yeah, nearly done. I will be out in a minute,” she shouted back turning the water off and stepping out of the shower.  
  
Pulling on the fresh scrubs the morgue had stashed away for a case like this she thought about what would happen next. Broad-spectrum antibiotic shots first, then isolation until the blood tests were through. They would start with the more worrying fatal diseases, working their way through a long list of possible viruses and pathogens. That John had to go through all of this was only a precautionary measure. He didn’t stand close to the corpse, the dead man’s blood never touched him but you could never be too careful. But that surely meant that he would be separated from them. _Great, just what I needed. A potentially deadly disease and being locked away with Sherlock for God knows how long._ Molly took another deep breath before reaching for the door and stepping outside.  


  
A few minutes later she was sitting on a hospital bed inside a quarantined room staring at the wall. Experts were testing the samples, doctors in Hazmat suits had done some basic examinations, and so far everything seemed to be fine.

Now all they could do was waiting. And waiting wasn’t good. Now that they had nothing more to do her mind started worrying again. She could try as much as she liked but she just couldn’t suppress her fear any longer.

“Stop worrying.”

“Who says I’m worrying?” Molly demanded turning sharply to face Sherlock who was casually lying back on his bed staring at the ceiling.

Through this whole incident he had remained calm and controlled, giving instructions to both her and John, following the emergency guidelines. Not once had he shown any sign of fear or shock, in fact he had been completely quiet for some time.

“You were biting your bottom lip. You always do that when you’re worried,” he explained without even looking at her.

“Yeah, well I’m not worried,” Molly replied turning her back at him.

She hated him for his calm composure, for his casual demeanour, his smugness. How dared he tell her how to react? Whatever she did or didn’t do was none of his business. Not after what he had done only a few weeks ago. Molly swallowed her anger and tried to distract her mind with different thoughts. But of course it didn’t work, only too fast did her worries return and she looked at her watch impatiently. Only 15 minutes had passed since they had been left in the quarantined room. She didn’t know how she should survive this. She jumped off the bed and walked over to the only window in the room. The outside world didn’t offer too much distraction either. Giltspur Street and its surrounding lanes had never been an extremely busy area but today the streets seemed even less populated than usual. With a sigh she turned around and walked back to her bed only to find it impossible to sit back down. Looking around the room she went over to the little wardrobe in the corner opening its doors and drawers, finding a spare cushion and warm blankets before venturing over to the sink and checking her reflection in the mirror for any early signs of illness.

“If you have explored our surroundings to your full satisfaction I would appreciate it if you could refrain from marching back and forth for our remaining waiting time,” Sherlock told her still staring at the ceiling. “It’s very distracting. And if anything it will help the disease spread further through your body.”

“I can walk around as much as I like,” Molly shot back angrily although she had to agree with his reasoning.

He didn’t have to tell her that keeping calm and staying put was the best she could do for her body right now but the uncertainty of their situation was driving her insane.

“And since when are you worried about my health? I was under the impression you didn’t care much for me anyway,” she said in as calm a tone as she could. “But I shouldn’t be surprised really. You showed us just too well how much you cared for your own health last autumn... why should you care for anybody else...” she added quietly with a bitter laugh.

Now it was Sherlock’s turn to sit up angrily.

“I’m clean. It was for a case. I’m not using anymore, how many times do I have to tell you that?”

“For a case. That’s a good excuse, isn’t it?” Molly answered a little sadness in her voice.

“It’s not an excuse, it’s the truth,” Sherlock huffed staring at her. “And anyway this is not only about me doing drugs, is it?”

“You’re the clever detective. You tell me,” Molly replied before sitting back down on her bed facing away from him.

Sherlock just looked at her another moment before sinking back down on his own bed. He knew she was angry; she had been since he had returned from his short exile. He thought it might pass, just like it had passed all those times before. But it didn’t and he knew exactly why she was mad at him. But what good could talking about it do? He couldn’t undo what he had done and had no inclination to explain his reasons behind his actions. There really was no use in discussing it, especially not now when they might have to endure each other’s company for at least another few hours. Inhaling deeply he turned onto his side looking out of the window and tried to not think about it any more.  



	2. Chapter 2

When a little cough ripped Sherlock from his mind palace three hours had gone by and it was already pitch black outside. He had stacked away some of the information from his latest cases and deleted unnecessary memories to make room for new facts. Hearing another cough he sat up on his elbows trying to get a better view of Molly. But she was still lying on her bed facing away from him and for all he knew she could have been fast asleep. _People cough all the time. She might just have a dry throat. Nothing to worry about._ He told himself sinking back down on the cushion just to sit up again as another cough shook Molly’s body. Swinging his legs off the bed he hesitated a moment.  
  
“Molly?” he asked into the silence of the now darkened room.  
  
As he got no answer he stood up, slowly walking the short distance over to her bed.  
  
“Are you ok?”  
  
“Go back to bed. I’m fine,” Molly replied not even opening her eyes.  
  
“For how long have you been coughing?”  
  
“I’ve just got a dry throat that’s all. I’ll drink something, ok? I won’t disturb you with my coughing any longer,” she spat out as she suddenly sat up and brushed past him towards the sink.  
  
But Sherlock wasn’t convinced at all. Watching her intently he followed close behind and as Molly swayed just seconds later trying to hold onto the sink but missing it by inches he caught her in his arms steadying her softly.  
  
“Get off me!” Molly protested struggling to free herself from his grip.  
  
“Molly!” Sherlock exclaimed as he dodged her elbow. “Stop! I’m just trying to help you! What is wrong with you?”  
  
“What is wrong with ME?!” she shouted as she finally wriggled free. “You got some nerve! Nothing is wrong with me. I’m just fed up with your stupid behaviour. Because this is how it goes, ALL.THE.TIME. You mess up, you mess up really badly and I’m mad at you, so mad that I can’t even put it into words and then somehow you just coax your way back into my good graces. You behave, you compliment me, and you play nice. But it’s always just to get your way. Guess what, I’m done with this. I’m done with being the ever forgiving Molly; I’m done with overlooking all your faults and making excuses for the awful things you put your friends through. Because I thought we were friends, I really did. Remember how you told me that you trusted me? That I was important? Well, I guess it was all a lie because friends don’t just leave on an undercover mission for six month without telling each other. Friends don’t just leave without saying goodbye. Not even a freaking message, a note. Nothing! You were leaving for God knows how long and you didn’t even leave me a note. That’s not friendship, Sherlock!”  
  
Sherlock had watched her in horror as she had shouted at him; all the built up emotion, the pushed back anger spilling out in one big speech. Now Molly stood before him panting slightly and feeling even dizzier than before. _Maybe it’s actually more than just a dry throat._ She thought to herself as the room started spinning. The next moment she felt her knees give in and she was once again caught by Sherlock who easily lifted her back onto her bed before feeling her forehead.  
  
“You’re burning up. You need a doctor,” he said pressing the little red button beside the bed.  
  
“That’s not friendship,” she repeated now barely audible and just before everything went black she saw him leaning over her a worried pained expression on his face, his lips moving, saying something that didn’t quite reach her ears anymore.  
  
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Molly.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a really short chapter but I wanted to keep the suspense a bit longer ;) But don't worry the next one will hopefully be finished soon.


	3. Chapter 3

„Why did this take so long?“ Sherlock barked at the doctor and nurse when they finally entered the room.  
  
“We came as quickly as we could, Mr Holmes,” the nurse reassured him while the doctor examined Molly.  
  
“What happened?” he asked while going through medical supplies in a drawer.  
  
“She was coughing and then she fainted. What is the use of this stupid button when it takes you over five minutes to get here? I thought this was a hospital!” Sherlock demanded while grabbing the man’s shoulder.  
  
“Calm down, please, Mr Holmes. You have to stay calm,” the nurse said pulling him back gently. “Mr Holmes? Sir, look at me.”  
  
Sherlock turned around sharply still fuming, staring down at the poor woman.  
  
“So, now, would you mind telling me what exactly happened?”  
  
Sherlock let out a slow sigh, inhaling deeply before straightening up again a bit.  
  
“Like I said, she was coughing, I don’t know for how long but I think she has been for some time. I asked her if she was feeling okay and she said she was fine. But she didn’t seem... fine. And then...”  
  
“Yes, Mr Holmes?” the nurse encouraged him smiling friendly.  
  
“Then she...” he began again looking over his shoulder at Molly. “She um... felt dizzy, she nearly fell but I caught her and she yelled at me,” he finished quietly.  
  
“Yelled at you?” the nurse repeated her brow furrowed in confusion.

“We ... had a little ... disagreement.” Sherlock explained looking at the floor. “Anyway, she yelled at me and then she fainted. I think she’s got a fever.”  
  
“Mh, that doesn’t sound too good.” The Doctor joined in now that he had finished his examination.  
  
“Of course it doesn’t!” Sherlock exclaimed rolling his eyes. “Please tell me that you at least know what it is by now?”  
  
As his question was only met by silence and the doctor shook his head solemnly Sherlock lost it again. He had always thought Bart’s an efficient and professional place but he seemed to have been mistaken. But then again the most competent person he had met at the hospital was lying unconsciously in a bed behind him.  
  
“Bring me some equipment,” he ordered suddenly. “Everything I need for the tests.”  
  
“But Mr Holmes!” the nurse exclaimed.  
  
“You know we have experts working on this, don’t you?” the doctor added.  
  
“I know, but apparently your so called experts are not very good, are they?” Sherlock spat back. “A microscope, a centrifuge, all the necessary chemicals, it shouldn’t be too hard to have them brought to me from the lab.”  
  
“You’re a patient. Patients don’t do their own tests.” The doctor stated matter-of-factly.  
  
“And you are a doctor and yet you seem to lack the ability to cure people.” Sherlock shouted stepping closer to the doctor towering over him.  
  
“Mr Holmes, I’m going to tell you once again. We have experts for this and everybody is working hard to find whatever is causing this illness. Believe me, we are doing our best to find a cure and you shouting at me will not change my mind.”  
  
“Your best is not good enough!” Sherlock growled. “Look at her! All you did was giving her an IV, she’s barely stable and you refuse to let me help? You still have no clue what kind of virus you’re dealing with! You’re useless! This whole hospital is useless!” he shouted while gesturing wildly between Molly and the doctor.  
  
“Mr Holmes, you have to calm down or...”  
  
“Or what?!” Sherlock said narrowing his eyes at the man stepping even closer.  
  
“Or I have to sedate you,” the doctor replied a frown on his face.  
  
“You wouldn’t dare!”  


  
Ten minutes later Sherlock was lying back on his bed an IV stuck to his arm, an IV he neither wanted nor felt he needed. But with the sedative still rushing through his veins there was nothing he could do about it. Coming slowly back to his senses he set up a bit and looked over at Molly.  
  
“Stupid ignorant people,” he muttered while willing his legs to move without much success.  
  
Blinking away the drowsiness and shaking his head he tried again and slowly made his way out of his bed and over to Molly’s where he sank down on a chair. Pulling his IV after him annoyed he ran a hand over his face brushing away the last effects of the sedative injection.  
  
“I always knew you were the most competent person around here but I didn’t think you were surrounded by complete fools,” he said sighing deeply.  
  
Leaning back in his chair he rested his hands underneath his chin and watched at her. She looked so peaceful the way she laid there sleeping and even though she was a bit pale Sherlock had to admit to himself that she still looked beautiful, beautiful and kind and warm hearted Molly Hooper. Only the IV and ECG machine beside her bed told onlookers which war was fought inside her body at the moment. The constant beep cruelly reminding Sherlock that she was - although stable now - still in danger.  
  
“They will find the virus,” he told her reaching for her hand slowly. “They will find it or they will wish that they were never born,” he added through gritted teeth.  
  
As the minutes passed and he watched her calm breathing, Sherlock felt himself getting drowsy and before he knew it he had fallen asleep, his head resting on the bed only inches from her hand that he was still holding gently.


	4. Chapter 4

He knew it the second he woke up, something was wrong. His legs felt like lead and even his arms seemed to have tripled in weight. But the worst change was to his head, not only did it feel heavy like the rest of his body but nothing seemed to be where it was supposed to. Everything was in a mess, like the times Mrs Hudson “tidied up” the kitchen disrupting his carefully constructed system. The disease had finally caught up with him and there was nothing he detested more than being sick. He could cope with injuries, injuries only limited his physical abilities and although he often depended on his body, his mind was his greatest asset. Without it he simply felt useless but no matter how much he tried to bring it back into order it felt like the facts eluded him and he was groping through a thick layer of fog. And still there was something else that bothered him, something else that seemed wrong, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it yet.  
  
Lifting his head up from the bed a few inches he tried to sit up but sank back down again with a groan.  
  
“Funny thing... a virus, isn’t it?” he heard a familiar voice from the corner and suddenly the room temperature seemed to have dropped rapidly.  
  
He knew that voice too well, that voice he sometimes heard in his dreams, accompanied by a face distorted in a cruel grimace, a hollow laughter that would haunt him long after he had woken up.  
  
“I envy them sometimes, so little and yet so powerful.”  
  
Sherlock felt his throat tighten up and he thought he was going to be sick. He had feared this moment - facing Moriarty once again - ever since he had been pulled back from his short exile. He had prepared himself, had been cautious, keeping his mind alert at all times, always expecting him around the next corner but now with the disease polluting his system and his once so clear intellect disabled he was no match for the criminal. He was helpless, helpless in the face of his worst enemy. And as if that wasn’t bad enough already, Molly was lying next to him just as defenceless as he was.  
  
With as much force as he could muster up he pushed himself away from the bed, managing at least an upright position.  
  
“Oh no, don’t get up for me,” Moriarty chirped as he slowly walked out of the dark corner his face barely illuminated by the glow of the streetlight coming in through the window. “Darling, don’t strain yourself.”  
  
Sherlock managed a tight smile staring back at Moriarty whose hollow eyes looked even more manic than Sherlock remembered.  
  
“No hearty welcome? No “Oh my God, you’re not dead!”? Disappointing... really it is,” he said smiling widely his head slightly tilted to the right. “But then again, it’s hardly a new trick, is it? I mean, you started the trend; I have to give you that. Surviving that leap... rather impressive.”  
  
“I didn’t do it to impress you,” Sherlock answered coldly not for once taking his eyes off Moriarty.  
  
“Mh... yes, I thought so,” Moriarty admitted flinching slightly. “But then again you used to be more impressive. Now... now you are just so ordinary. I thought you were different but you’re not, so predictable, so ... boring.”  
  
He slowly circled the room stopping in front of the window and glancing outside.  
  
“London, it used to be so much fun, so many possibilities, but look what it’s come to. Quiet, calm, peaceful... isn’t it hateful?”  
  
“Why are you here?” Sherlock demanded.  
  
His patience was coming to an end and he felt himself get weaker by the second. He couldn’t afford long speeches and mind games; he was barely able to hold himself upright as it was.  
  
“Oh, I thought I’d drop by and say hello,” Moriarty explained turning around again. “Isn’t that what old friends do?”  
  
As Sherlock didn’t reply but continued staring at the madman, Moriarty dropped his shoulders slightly and put on a sad face for a second before returning to his usual expression.  
  
“Forgive me, I was feeling nostalgic. All those nice little games we played, don’t you remember? You have to admit we had some fun times together... Thought we could revive some memories. What d’you say? A bit of fun.” Smiling cruelly he walked back slowly adding “Or are you too busy with your – what is the word – friends? I must say you have gathered quite a club by now. Caring for all those people... isn’t that a terrible bore?”  
  
“Who says I’m caring?” Sherlock returned but a quick glance at Molly’s sleeping figure before him betrayed his true emotions.  
  
Following Sherlock’s gaze Moriarty looked at the pathologist now lying between them.  
  
“Oh yes, lovely Molly. So small, so gentle, like a little mouse. I always liked that about her. She looks so fragile, doesn’t she? A brittle twig, like you could break her with one hand. But that’s where I was wrong, wasn’t I? Because she’s much stronger than I thought. See, I can admit my errors.”  
  
Walking to the head end of the bed he bent down and brushed away some loose strands of hair that had fallen onto her face. Clenching his fist Sherlock had to keep himself from leaping at the criminal although he probably didn’t even have the strength to stand up in his current condition. Taking a few deep breaths he glared at him watching his every move.  
  
“Little, loyal Molly. I always wondered how you survived your fall. You might say I was there, but, you know, I was a little occupied with faking my own death. So I missed the most important parts... I missed her. All your lovely little friends, I had them all lined up but she escaped me. But I will not repeat my error, that’s for sure.”  
  
“You will leave her alone!” Sherlock uttered through gritted teeth.  
  
“Or what, Sherlock? Or you will kill me? We both know that’s not going to work,” he added with a hollow laugh before stepping back up next to Sherlock. “But I would like to see you try.”  
  
With a sudden burst of energy Sherlock reached out and grabbed the madman’s arm pulling him down slightly. Narrowing his eyes at Moriarty he stared at him unblinking.  
  
“Believe me, I will. I will hunt you, and I will find you and I will make sure that you will never cause any harm ever again. Even if it’s the last thing I will do.”  
  
“Uh darling, if I didn’t know it better I’d say you just threatened me,” Moriarty exclaimed shaking his head in mock surprise before easily escaping Sherlock’s grip. “I’m looking forward to it though, seeing you try. It’s always funny to watch you dance.”  
  
Walking towards the door casually he turned back once again looking at Sherlock a broad smile on his face. “But really, you should get some rest. You look terrible. And it would be such a shame to have you die before we can restart our little game. Such a shame...”  
  
And with that he was out the door leaving the room as silent as it was before. With all the tension suddenly gone Sherlock’s hands started to shake and he tried to rid himself of his drowsiness. Willing his legs to move he tried to stand up, he had to reach that little red button beside Molly’s bed, he had to get help. He had to warn them. But somehow all his strength had left his body and as he lifted himself up out of the chair his knees gave in right away and he came crashing down onto the floor, his shoulder slamming into the side of the bedside table. As his head connected with the linoleum covered floor with a dull thumb he thought about reaching up to press the button but his vision blurred before he could even lift his arm and seconds later he had passed out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I hope you enjoyed this and I have no idea how their conversation got so long, there was supposed to be a lot of other stuff I wanted to cover in this chapter. But it didn't seem to fit anymore. Well, I will get to that in the next chapter ;) I just really like hearing Moriarty talk... I can't help it.


	5. Chapter 5

„We found him asleep in the chair beside her bed; must have been there all night. His fever was quite high this morning but we have that under control now. They have to stay in quarantine for another few days but now that we isolated the virus we’re certain that they will both be back on their feet in no time.”  
  
“Excellent.”  
  
“So you see, we have everything under control. You really didn’t have to come in person. Your schedule must be packed, we know what a busy man you are.”  
  
“Oh, of course I didn’t **have to** ; your hospital’s reputation precedes you. I just wanted to make sure that your standards are still as high as they were when we discussed your last funding.”  
  
Sherlock didn’t have to open his eyes to know who was speaking to the doctor beside his bed. He could practically hear Mycroft’s insincere smile in his words, oozing with fake politeness. It was obvious that there were no sympathies between the two men but diplomacy and British manners dictated a certain level of decorum.  
  
“Of course they are. And your brother and Miss Hooper have been our first priority since they were infected.”  
  
“I never expected anything less. The minister will be glad to hear that St Bart’s is living up to its name.”  
  
“Thank you, thank you,” the doctor said noticeably relieved.  
  
“Good. That’s settled then,” Mycroft said looking at his watch. “My assistant will give you my contact details; I want to be informed right away when either of them wakes up. But now I’ve got a meeting I have to attend.”  
  
“Of course, that will be no problem at all.”

Sherlock waited until the sounds of footsteps receded down the hall before carefully opening his eyes. His head still felt heavy and his throat was sore but he could already feel the effects of the IV attached to his arm slowly battling the illness inside of him. Pulling himself to an upright position he rested his head on his hands and closed his eyes again trying to make sense of everything that had happened over the course of the last night.  
  
His conversation with Moriarty seemed like a dream to him now that he thought about it in broad daylight. Their room was sealed off in quarantine, so every person entering would have to be registered and go through safety procedures. Of course that was something Moriarty could easily avoid by paying the security guard or replacing him with one of his own men, after all he had broken into the Tower of London; a hospital room was no match for him. But even then it would have been pure madness to enter without the decontamination suit, something even Moriarty wasn’t crazy enough to do, unless... he had already known the source of the disease, making it easy for him to take precautionary measures.  
  
And still, the hospital staff had found him in the chair beside Molly’s bed, not on the floor and apart from his drowsiness Sherlock didn’t really feel any headache or pain he would have expected after such a fall. Frustrated he ran one hand over his face and looked out the window. He simply didn’t have enough data to fully decide what the truth was. And even if Moriarty hadn’t been the result of his feverish mind playing tricks on him, what use was that information to him? He was still chained to this bed and would have to remain in quarantine another couple of days. There was no way for him to chase after the criminal in his current condition and he knew that he would be the only person that could actually catch him. At least they were not in imminent danger, it would have been easy to kill them both on the spot last night, but that was beneath the consulting criminal. He wanted to play games, games that would just like the last time cost lives. Games that were aimed at hurting him and those around him before finally ending his life. And this time Molly would be included in those games.  
  
Looking over at her sleeping figure he couldn’t help but feel guilty, guilty for the situation she was in simply because she had helped him. Getting off his bed he used the IV pole for support as he walked back over to the chair beside her bed. He would have to make sure that nothing happened to her once they could leave the hospital. He already had his homeless network keeping an eye on her since Moriarty’s message had been broadcasted all over Britain but now he needed professionals to insure her safety. He would need help. Struck with a sudden idea he stood up again and rummaged through his belongings that lay in a plastic bag beside his bed searching for his phone. Settling back down into the chair beside Molly’s bed he started to type a message.  
  
 _I WOULDN’T TRUST THE HOSPITAL STAFF TO INFORM YOU SO ACCURATELY AND IMMEDIATELY AS YOUR USUAL EMPLOYEES. AFTER ALL THEY WEREN’T TRAINED FOR ESPIONAGE BUT THEN AGAIN THEY WEREN’T THAT GOOD AT WHAT THEY WERE TRAINED FOR EITHER. THANK YOU FOR SPEEDING THE RESULTS ALONG, DID YOU HAVE TO THREATEN THEM OR WAS ANNOUNCING YOUR VISIT SUFFICIENT ENOUGH? -SH_  
  
Rereading the text he flinched slightly and shook his head in disgust. He hated thanking his brother but he knew he would need his resources soon and it was always practical to keep on the good side of the British government. Pressing the send button before he could decide against it, he muted his mobile immediately and tossed it aside. It was bad enough that he had to butter his brother up; he felt no desire to read any reply he might get.  
  
He watched Molly sleep for another couple of hours checking her vital signs on the monitor beside her bed every now again. She was gradually recovering and as her heart rate had returned to a rather healthy state and he got drowsy again Sherlock felt it best to get another round of sleep, too. Looking once again down at the peacefully dozing pathologist he suddenly found himself reaching for her blanket and pulling it up around her shoulders. And to Sherlock’s surprise it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Returning to his bed and sinking back into his cushion he blamed his high temperature for the warmth spreading in his stomach and that weird unfamiliar but somehow comforting feeling. He definitely needed sleep. When he’d wake up, this hateful fever would hopefully be gone and he would feel like himself again.

* * *

When Sherlock opened his eyes again the sun was already setting outside, leaving a faint pink glow in the sky above London. He stretched his limbs with a yawn and realised that his health was already much better than before. His head was slowly but surely returning to its normal state and he felt some of his strength returning. Reaching for his phone on the bedside table he ignored Mycroft’s text and just checked the time: 8:13 pm. He had slept the better part of the day and would probably lie awake for most of the night now. He put the mobile back on the table and rested his arms behind his head staring at the ceiling. He would have to find something to occupy his mind.  
  
“Sherlock? Are you awake?”  
  
Returning from his mind palace Sherlock glanced to his side without moving his position on the bed. It had grown considerably dark in the room and he could barely make out Molly’s outlines but it seemed like she was lying on her back just like he was.  
  
“Yup,” he replied into the darkness keeping his eyes fixed on her contours.  
  
“The nurse was here earlier. You were fast asleep, I didn’t want to wake you,” she explained. “They found the viral agent; it’s the Nipah-virus. The man must have been infected on a recent trip, they are looking into that. She said we were quite lucky to have been in intensive care within hours. But, you know, we’re going to be alright. So that’s good.”  
  
“I know, I overheard my brother talking to a doctor earlier,” Sherlock answered.  
  
“You’re brother was here? What did he say?”  
  
“I didn’t feel like talking to him; pretended to be asleep,” he confessed quietly.  
  
“Oh,” was all Molly said and they both went silent for a while.  
  
It was Molly that started the conversation again.  
  
“Sherlock?”  
  
“Mh?”  
  
“That nurse... she seemed to be rather glad that you weren’t awake. She, I don’t know, she seemed, I wouldn’t say scared of you, but... She told me they had to sedate you the last time she was in here?”  
  
“Oh... yup. Let’s say we had a bit of a disagreement about their methods and if they were efficient enough.”  
  
“Meaning you shouted at them and demanded to do the tests yourself?” Molly asked and he could hear the amusement in her voice.  
  
“Well, they weren’t doing their job right,” Sherlock returned and after a little pause added “You... were ill, and they were getting nowhere.”  
  
“I’m sorry that I shouted at you.”  
  
“I deserved it. Most of the time I probably do,” Sherlock replied instantly staring back at the ceiling above. She definitely wasn’t the one that had to apologise.  
  
He could hear her turning in her bed but didn’t dare to look over; even in the darkened room he could not face her. Instead he kept staring stoically into the dark nothingness of the room. He knew that she still had some questions on her mind, questions that needed to be answered, but he simply didn’t know where to start. He could basically feel them hanging in the air between them, unspoken but yet so palpable. He swallowed hard thinking about what to say but for the first time in his life he seemed to have lost all words.  
  
“Greg... Lestrade came to see me,” Molly started barely audible and ripped him from his thoughts.  
  
Daring a glance to his side he tried to make out her features but couldn’t see much in the darkness.  
  
“The day you went away, I mean,” she continued and he thought he heard some sadness in her voice.  
  
Returning his gaze to the ceiling he stayed quiet, waiting for her to go on.  
  
“He wanted to check in on me, you know? See if I was alright. Because you were leaving.” He heard her take a deep – _calming?_ – breath beside him before she spoke again. “It was so strange, there he was asking me if I was alright, wanting to comfort me, and I had no idea what he was talking about. Can you imagine how I felt? He was more than embarrassed, said that you probably had meant to tell me, but had been rushed away or something. He defended you...”  
  
“He defended you, although you didn’t deserve it. Because you told everybody, everybody knew. Mary, John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, even Donovan and Anderson knew before I did.”  
  
“I definitely didn’t tell Donovan or Anderson,” Sherlock countered, instantly regretting it.  
  
He braced himself for another round of shouting, another series of angry words he definitely deserved. But all that came was a deep sigh followed by another few moments of silence.  
  
“I was so upset. I tried to hide it, but I was so angry, so hurt. Greg actually offered to take me to the pub, have a pint or something. But all I wanted was to be alone. I think he went on his own, I don’t know...” she trailed off her voice quivering. “You have no idea how much you hurt me, Sherlock. I was so disappointed...”  
  
As the first sob broke the silence that had followed Molly’s speech Sherlock finally found his voice again.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he whispered his own voice sounding strangely hoarse.  
  
“Why didn’t you come to say goodbye to me? Why did you...” Molly asked between sobs, now crying fully. “... just leave? Why was I not important enough to get a proper goodbye from you? Everybody else... Sherlock. Everybody else but me.”  
  
This was exactly what he had feared, the confrontation, the emotions, this was not his area. He wasn’t good at this and he would only make things worse, he always did.  
  
“Sherlock! Answer me, why didn’t you say goodbye to me?!” Molly’s voice had risen to a shout by now.  
  
“Because I couldn’t,” he replied his voice shaking. “Because I wasn’t going to come back. Because I was going to die on that undercover mission. Because I had only six months to live and I... I couldn’t face saying goodbye to you. I knew if I were to see you again, if I had to actually say it out loud, that I would try to get out of it, and there was no getting out, not this time. Saying goodbye to John was hard enough but I knew, I couldn’t... not if it was you... I wouldn’t have been able to...”  
  
The words had spilled out in one big rush and he felt his hands shaking now that everything had been said. He clenched his hands into fists trying to steady them while breathing heavily. Molly had turned completely silent beside him, only a slight sniffle once and again telling him that she was in fact still there.  
  
“I don’t understand,” she said after what seemed like an eternity. “I thought I wasn’t important enough...”  
  
“You were always important to me,” Sherlock replied his voice calm and controlled again. “And I’m so sorry, I really am. I never meant to hurt you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably be the last part of Close Quarters. I know there might be much more that could be told in this story but I need to focus on other things right now and really shouldn't be writing anything else apart from my MA thesis. I tried to finish it in a way that at least feels a bit like an ending, the rest is up to your imagination ;)  
> And big thanks to **writingwife83** who did some beta reading for me today and motivated me so much that I actually finished this.


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